


why don't we go there

by tgrsndshrks



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, this is incredibly self indulgent tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 09:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4474571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tgrsndshrks/pseuds/tgrsndshrks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“It's fine,” Jeordie says. “I just... like watching your hands.”</i><br/><i>The second the words are out of Jeordie's mouth, he regrets them. Brian's quiet for a second too long, and Jeordie looks up to meet his eyes. Brian isn't usually easy to read, but Jeordie can see the gears turning in his head, and his eyes narrow, and</i> oh no.<br/><i>“My hands, huh?” Brian asks.</i> Ohhhh noooooo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	why don't we go there

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a bunch of self indulgent hand kink porn because i'm obsessed with brian's hands!! don't look at me
> 
> holy wood era obvs; title from the one direction song.
> 
> DISCLAIMER (added to author’s notes of all fics w/ twiggy in them on nov. 13 2017): i no longer support jeordie white/twiggy ramirez after he was accused of rape and sexual assault/harassment by several people, particularly an ex girlfriend. i’m not sure if i’m going to leave these fics up on my page or orphan them, but i want to publicly state that as a Real Life Person, i do not fuck with twiggy at all anymore and will not be including him in fics from hereon out. i do not endorse his behavior and the character in this fic is a completely fictionalized character, independent of the real life jeordie/twiggy.

_It's 2001,_ Jeordie thinks to himself. _There should be a way to mainline caffeine by now._

Of course, there isn't, so he's on his second coffee. It's past one but this is early for him. He was up with Brian till seven getting high and making art and bullshitting with him. Jeordie would have slept in till ten minutes before showtime if he could have, but Brian's sound check alarm had gone off, and once Jeordie's up he's up. So here he is, bass slung around his neck, ignored in favor of coffee.

“Check,” Brian says into the mic, reaching to grab it from the stand. “Check, check.” Jeordie watches long fingers wrap around the microphone and sighs to himself. If Jeordie had to make a list of things that prove the existence of a god, Brian's hands would be one of them. Thin tattooed wrists, narrow palms, long fingers, the always-chipped black polish. The way the tendons shift under his skin.  _Ugh_ . Jeordie manages to look down at his coffee and take another drink.

Jeordie supposes he's always had a thing for Brian's hands. He's not sure if it's even really a thing or if it's just one of Jeordie's personality traits by now. After all these years he's gotten pretty used to it. The stolen looks at them, the admiring from afar, aside from the occasional chance to hold one while doing a bump off it, or Brian holding one of Jeordie's hands in his to give some photographers a headline. Sure, he's always been smitten with Brian himself – most everyone that knows Brian is smitten with him at some point – but his hands in particular are just a weird obsession of his. Jeordie drinks his coffee, watches Brian tuck his hair behind his ears, and hits a couple notes on his top string. Enough to confirm his bass sounds fine.

“We have a signing to get to, fucking Christ,” Brian groans to himself, apparently thinking soundcheck is talking entirely too long. Jeordie finishes his coffee and passes his bass off as quickly as possible to whoever's willing to take it. He needs another coffee if he's going to have to sit next to Brian at a signing.

It's exactly as exhausting as Jeordie expects. The third coffee does the trick but it doesn't take the edge off constantly seeing Brian's hands signing things in his periphery. His long fingers bent to hold a pen, the knuckles sharp, ink smudged on his wrist. Jeordie stifles a whine when Brian preens over his nails to check the polish on them.

He has to force himself to sign the same picture for the billionth time today, nearly misspelling his own name when Brian idly snaps his fingers a few times.

So Jeordie watches Brian's hands, as he does every day. He watches him dial phone numbers, open fan letters from the signing, read along with a fingertip. He watches him as best as he can during the set, thankful that he plays his bass so low when Brian splays a big hand across his ass.

It's not till after the set that things get out of hand, so to say. Brian's showered and bare-faced, the remains of eyeliner still smeared on his waterline. Jeordie's laid out on the hotel bed, squinting at his phone in an attempt to play the tiniest, shittiest version of Pong of all time. Brian sits on the bed next to him in his boxers, tucking his long legs under himself and holding in his lap his stage pants and a sewing kit.

“I figure I can keep them together for two more shows and replace them before we go back to Europe for Reading fest and shit,” Brian says, as if to answer Jeordie's question before he has a chance to ask.

“I hope they make these cell phone screens bigger eventually because I can't see shit,” Jeordie says, tossing the brick of a phone on the bedside table. He rolls up onto his side, props his head up in his hand. “I didn't know you could sew,” he lies. He's seen Brian fix his stage clothes before, he'd even fixed a few of Jeordie's dresses, but this is an excuse to  _watch Brian do something with his hands._

“It's not that hard,” Brian says. “Honestly. I mean once you know how to do it.” He clicks the sewing kit open and carefully selects a needle. He stabs it into the bed next to him as he unravels a piece of thread, snips a length, doubles it over, and puts the folded point between his teeth as he retrieves the needle. Jeordie just watches Brian expertly thread the needle on the first try, easy fingers. Watches Brian knot the thread on itself and knot the ends. “I'm just reinforcing it by doubling it,” he adds. “I did that to the collar on your green dress because your bass strap was always pulling at it. That's why it hasn't torn again.” Jeordie reflexively looks at his shoulder even though this is a very different dress.

“Oh,” Jeordie says, half interested. “Neat.”

Brian picks up his stage pants and chooses a spot, piercing the needle through the back and pulling it through, then stabbing it down onto the opposite side of the tear. And back and forth. Left hand holding the fabric taut, right hand stitching. Jeordie goes glassy-eyed, just watching Brian's fingers, his thumb passing over his stitches to check that they're flush with the surface. Knotting the thread on itself. Jeordie sighs.

“I'm sure watching me sew is super exciting,” Brian remarks, biting the thread off and retying it. “If only those Christian groups knew how evil I really am, completely sober and sewing my own pants sat on a hotel bed in my boxers.”

“You really are the antichrist,” Jeordie says fondly, grinning, and Brian cracks a smile.

“That's so sweet of you to say, Twigs,” Brian says, really laying the sugar on thick. “I'm flattered.” Jeordie's stomach flutters. That's his favorite nickname, even if Brian only uses it sarcastically.

“That's my job,” Jeordie says. “To be the slightly less evil sidekick.” Brian snorts a laugh and starts stitching another tear.

“If only they knew you were the actual evil one,” Brian retorts. Jeordie lets out a decidedly not evil giggle and Brian laughs. “Except your giggling sounds like a school girl.”

“Shut up,” Jeordie says, swatting him. “What did I ever do?”

“You sneezed and left your snot on the wall at that venue once,” Brian says. “I just light shit on fire. Leaving snot is definitely vandalism.”

“That was like five years ago,” Jeordie says, frowning at him, eyes still on Brian's fingers as he stitches. “This is why I never talk in interviews. I'd say something and you'd turn it on me so fast.”

“I give you shit because you're my person,” Brian says matter of factly, and Jeordie actually looks up from his hands to look at Brian's little grin. Jeordie sits up and scoots over next to Brian, leaning on his shoulder as he looks back down at Brian's lap. Jeordie's legs are noticeably shorter than Brian's but he ignores that and thankfully Brian chooses not to make a short joke about him for once. Brian's watching his own fingers as he works, Jeordie equally as transfixed.

“This is actually not all that boring,” Jeordie says. “Don't worry. I'm plenty entertained.”  _Brian doesn't even know the half of it,_ he thinks.

“Is it?” Brian asks. He looks down at Jeordie on his shoulder.

“It's fine,” Jeordie says. “I just... like watching your hands.”

The second the words are out of Jeordie's mouth, he regrets them. Brian's quiet for a second too long, and Jeordie looks up to meet his eyes. Brian isn't usually easy to read, but Jeordie can see the gears turning in his head, and his eyes narrow, and  _oh no_ .

“My hands, huh?” Brian asks.  _Ohhhh noooooo_ .

“Yeah,” Jeordie says quickly, as casually as possible, but Brian probably just saw Jeordie see his life flash before his eyes. “Y'know. It's. Relaxing. I like watching people's hands.”

“You mean  _my_ hands,” Brian says.

“Well,” Jeordie stutters out, but Brian's thumbing over his fingers, and that's distracting. “I guess.”

Brian puts his sewing to the side and grabs Jeordie's hand, putting his other hand in Jeordie's palm.

“Go ahead then,” Brian says. “You can look at them.” Jeordie whines softly, looks over Brian's fingers, turns his hand over in his palms to admire the knuckles. “How long has this been a thing?”

“It's not a thing,” Jeordie says quickly, “but I guess as long as I've known you.”

“You're an idiot,” Brian says as Jeordie links their fingers together. “You should've said something.”

“You were usually busy having a girlfriend,” Jeordie snorts back. He lifts Brian's hand closer to his face.

“What about all those times I sucked your dick?” Brian remarks.

“Shut up,” Jeordie scoffs. “You're ruining this for me.”

“I thought you said  _this_ wasn't a thing,” Brian says. Jeordie sighs at him.

“Can I put your fingers in my mouth and then can we just pretend this didn't happen?” Jeordie asks. Brian actually laughs.

“Obviously not,” Brian says. “I will put my fingers in your mouth though. I'll put my fingers wherever you want them.” Jeordie groans at him, rolling his eyes.

“You're the worst,” he says, and Brian just grins, looking quite pleased with himself as he pushes his first three fingers into Jeordie's mouth. Jeordie chokes a little at first but he hums contentedly, grabbing Brian's wrist to keep his hand there.

“Sure I am,” Brian says. He slides his fingers over Jeordie's tongue, fucking them into his mouth. The last of Jeordie's lipstick smears his knuckles. Jeordie brings a hand down to pull his dress up and reaches into his underwear. It's not like they haven't done weirder shit. “Are you still gonna insist this isn't a thing?” Brian remarks, and Jeordie shakes his head. “Are you gonna tell me what you're thinking right now?” Jeordie nods. Brian pulls his hand out of Jeordie's mouth and ropes of spit stretch between lips and fingers.

“I just really want your fingers in me,” Jeordie says before he even has a chance to swallow the spit in his mouth. He's still jerking off, eyes fixed on Brian's drool covered fingers.

“That could be arranged,” Brian says. He pushes Jeordie's hands to his sides and grabs at his underwear, pulling them off with a little difficulty. Brian grabs one of Jeordie's thighs and hitches his leg up over his shoulder before reaching back down to roughly shove his fingers back in Jeordie's mouth. “Get them wet,” Brian says. Jeordie moans around the fingers and sucks, tonguing at them, in an attempt to either lube them up or map every inch of them in his head for wank fodder for the rest of his life. Brian seems to be hyperaware of his other hand, considering the way he splays long fingers across Jeordie's thigh. It's nearly too much for Jeordie to deal with.

Brian takes his fingers back and reaches his hand down to work a finger in, just one. Jeordie whines, chewing the inside of his cheek, and Brian fucking smirks. Jeordie would probably punch him if Brian didn't have one of his glorious, gorgeous fingers inside him. He wants more.

“More,” Jeordie whimpers.

“More?” Brian asks, and Jeordie feels the second finger push in alongside the first one.

“Yes,  _fuck_ ,” Jeordie moans, arching when Brian starts curling his fingers into him, deeper than he's ever reached, and fuck. It's overwhelming.

“Do you still want more?” Brian asks. Jeordie spits in his hand and grabs his cock again, dress rucked up around his waist, trying to work himself at the same pace as Brian's fingers.

“Yeah,” Jeordie pants. Brian sucks in on his jaw and spits on his fingers, still inside Jeordie, before trying for the third. Jeordie tenses up a bit, gasps sharply, trying to get himself to relax enough. It takes a little effort but Brian gets all three fingers in deep, reaching bits of Jeordie that have never been touched.

“You good?” Brian asks. Jeordie nods quickly and Brian gets back to it, rocking his hand, curling his fingers, and Jeordie gasps and grabs Brian's hand on his thigh. “You're such a little slut. How long have you been dying for me to do this?”

“Fuck,” Jeordie says, because for some reason he's forgotten every other word in the English language.

“That's not a measurement of time,” Brian says casually, like he isn't three fingers deep in Jeordie's asshole.

“I don't know,” Jeordie manages, his cock jerking in his hand when Brian finds a particularly good spot.

“C'mere,” Brian says, pulling his free hand out from under Jeordie's and sliding his fingers into Jeordie's open mouth. Jeordie moans around them, his free hand grabbing for purchase on Brian's thigh. “You're a slut for my fingers huh. That's cute.”

“Mhmm,” Jeordie whines, feeling the heat pooling in his hips. Jeordie's heard Brian talk dirty on the phone to Missi and Rose, when he thought Jeordie was asleep, but hearing it directed at him is overwhelmingly hot.

“Are you gonna fucking cum?” Brian asks, looking down at Jeordie's hand around his cock. “That's fucking hot. I bet you'd want my whole hand if it could fit.”

“Fuck,” Jeordie moans around Brian's fingers, his nails digging at Brian's thigh, a fucking inch from cumming.

“You'd fucking love it,” Brian says. “Dirty fucking  _whore_ .”

Jeordie loses it on the last word, moaning and cumming over his own fingers, squeezing tight around Brian and arching off the bed. Brian just smirks, watches Jeordie writhe under his hands, riding it out for him till his hand slips exhaustedly off his cock. Brian slides his fingers out and wipes them on the hotel bed, the hand in his mouth smearing spit across Jeordie's chin.

“You're hot,” Brian says, carefully lowering Jeordie's leg from his shoulder.

“Oh my fucking god,” Jeordie says, draping the hand that isn't cummed on across his face. “I'm so sorry. Oh my fucking god.”

“What for?” Brian asks, grabbing Jeordie's underwear to wipe his hand off. Brian tosses it to the side and holds Jeordie's wrists, big hands circling them easily.

“You weren't supposed to know about that,” Jeordie says, looking up at Brian. Brian smiles weakly, ducks down to kiss Jeordie's forehead.

“Don't worry about it,” Brian says. “I only know about it when you want me to know.” Jeordie gets it, and he nods.

“Okay,” Jeordie sighs. “You're the best.”

“I know,” Brian says. “Go to sleep. I'll finish my sewing in the morning before bus call.”

Brian shuts the light off and Jeordie falls asleep with his hand wrapped around Brian's fingers.

 


End file.
